


Promise

by Noxid_Anamchara



Series: The Promise [1]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxid_Anamchara/pseuds/Noxid_Anamchara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's scars have an effect on Carol when he comes back from Woodbury, exhausted, and with someone else. Someone that doesn't play well with others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Treasured

**Author's Note:**

> Noxi: Caryl, and Merle. [Maryl]. This is a prompt, suggested by letmefallasleep over on Fanfiction.Net Check her out, she has a plethora of stories, many in the Walking Dead (I'd suggest American Dream, and Cajun Queen). And really, she's pretty awesome. I owe her much because I dove into this and ended up loving it dearly.
> 
> The Walking Dead belongs to Kirkman and AMC.

* * *

She couldn't believe it.

He was _back_.

They'd been arguing about what they were going to do, who was going to go where, what supplies they needed instead. If certain people were actually _worth_ saving. She refused to even think that the group had brought that one up.

Regardless of who it was, it was a matter of family. They wouldn't have talked about it if it were one of Hershel's, or Rick's. It didn't seem to matter that he was the only one who ever went out searching for _their_ lost loved ones, bringing back food when nobody else could find any, and who followed Rick _to the end of the world_.

No. Because it was _Merle Dixon_ they had to _discuss_ it. Didn't matter whether Daryl was trapped there, whether he was alive or not, because he _was_ alive, and it sure as hell didn't matter that he had stayed behind so that _they_ could all get out of there alive, god rest Oscar's soul.

_Safe._

What mattered was that Daryl _wasn't_ safe, Daryl _wasn't_ with them, and Daryl _wasn't_ able to choose his family. But damned if he didn't love him anyway.

And Carol could understand that.

Family, sometimes, you just didn't choose who you loved. Sometimes, you just _loved_ them.

But somehow, he had escaped. Somehow he'd traveled through walkers upon walkers. Somehow he'd come all that way, beaten, exhausted, hunted by the Governor's men, hunted by walkers, hunted by his own body.

Somehow he'd made it back to them.

"Are you okay?" When she touched his shoulder, he didn't even withdraw from her. He just slumped further, letting his head fall into hands. A heavy breath escaped him.

"Fuck you think? He ain't no pussy. Course he's _okay_." And then he jerked away from her, almost hitting his head on the bunk above him, as Merle stepped into the cell with them.

She turned to Merle then, eyeing him warily. He leaned against the doorframe, filling it up with his threatening presence.

He'd caused a scene when they all saw him, running right behind Daryl, amidst all those walkers. But between the walkers, the gunfight with the Governor's men who'd followed them and getting Daryl inside and safe, they couldn't object to bringing Merle either.

But once he was inside and the threat _outside_ was taken care of, things turned around.

People had things to say. Maggie didn't want to have anything to do with him. Not after what he'd done to Glenn. And Glenn had drawn his gun on him, hands shaking with rage. Rick had to quell that one, slowly.

And the black woman, with the sword, _Michonne_ ; there was no changing her mind, calming her down. She chose to stay outside of the cell block, with the new group. They couldn't take the chance with her, not when she'd drawn her blade and wouldn't put it away. The look in her eyes told Carol she'd take Merle's head clean off if she had the chance.

Hershel was wise enough to draw everyone into the cell block, _away_ from Merle. He had kept Beth away from it all, her curious eyes peering through the bars, watching intently.

Carl had kept a silent vigil next to his father, hand steady against his gun.

And Rick had finally made a shaky peace with everyone; something that Carol was sure was going to break.

Because they were all sure the Governor's men were coming after them, and once they did, she was sure that Merle wasn't going to find a friendly face, not one except his brothers.

_And maybe mine_.

"Need something Merle?" He squinted at the space between them, eyeballing Daryl momentarily and then took a step toward him. "A hand maybe?" Daryl's eyes widened in shock at her brazen attitude, and Merle looked like he was going to fly off the handle at her. But he grit his teeth and crossed his arms.

Seems like maybe he did learn something at that Woodbury.

"Just checkin' in on my baby brother. Ain't seen'im in a year." He glared at her then, puffing out his chest slightly. She didn't miss the masculine gesture. "That a problem?"

She looked back at Daryl, checking to see if _he_ would have a problem with Merle being there.

"I'm only going to be a moment, just to stitch him up. You can see him after, when I'm finished with _you_ as well." He looked taken aback, eyes slightly widened.

"Don't need nothin' from you woman. Just here to see my brother." She smiled a little, took a step forward.

"You mean since you can't go anywhere else but here and the other cell at the end of the hall?" This time a growl escaped him, and he stepped forward, closing the space between them. He towered over here, so much coming at her from his eyes, the same color as Daryl's. She hadn't known he was taller than Daryl.

And Carol was a little scared of him then.

"Back. Off. Merle." Daryl's voice came from directly behind her, and she could feel his body against her back. Daryl gripped her by the arm and pulled her out the way and behind him.

"Can't I have a minute to get my fuckin' shit together?" He turned then, back to Merle, so he didn't see his brother's face twist up, confusion written all over it. Merle couldn't stop looking from Daryl to Carol and back again.

"Oh I get it, _Darylena_. You _need a minute_." Merle laughed, coarse and mocking. "That's all it takes baby brother," he whispered harshly as he left the cell and stomped down the treadway, toward the only other cell he could occupy.

Carol didn't miss Daryl's ears tinting red.

"My brother he's," Daryl searched for the words, unable to find any.

Carol just shook her head, and touched his shoulder again. "He's your _brother_ ," she said with feeling. "I know."

He looked up, gratitude thick in his eyes. The shame and embarrassment were gone. She pushed on his shoulder, towards the chair.

He sat, shoulders slumping again. She sat on the bunk this time. Waiting for him to allow her to stitch him up. Sometimes he'd let Hershel do it, if it was an area that was more _private_ than he'd want her to see. But mostly, she was the one who stitched him up now. She suspected he didn't mind her touching him, seeing him shirtless.

She suspected it was the scars.

She'd never seen so many, so many pains against one body. She suspected he had as many on his heart.

"I ain't got nothin' I can't stitch myself." She smiled a little, at the way he tried to dismiss her, at the exhaustion clear in his voice.

"If you don't want me here Daryl, I can leave. But…" She sighed. She had to give him the choice. It was _always_ his choice. "You know I won't leave if you don't want me to either."

It was a moment before he looked her in the eyes, nodded, and started taking off his shirt.

It was always such a slow, agonizing process. And when he pulled it off, it was like she was seeing each of those scars anew, each of them yelling at her, slapping her in the face.

She _hated_ seeing those marks against his flesh. Who could do that to a person? She started to reach out, almost touching one that went jagged down his shoulder blade. It was old and faded, like it had been there for yea-

He turned in the chair, snapping her back, and she saw the dried blood against his side, along the bottom of his ribcage.

"Bullet grazed me." She swallowed hard as he glanced back at her, reading her face.

"Weren't nothin'. Just a graze. Had worse, you know that." She turned to the box of supplies at her side, hiding her face.

"Just another to add ta the collection." She blanched at the admission.

_She_ had tried to tell herself that it was just minor, it wouldn't scar _that_ badly. But to say that it would just be another to add to the collection, like it was something as trivial as a duplicate baseball card, was heartbreaking.

And she _hated_ to hear that. Hated whoever had beaten that type of thinking into him. It wasn't just _another_ scar. It wasn't just another wound. This was his body. This was _Daryl_.

_But._

But each and every scar, every mark, had a story, had a purpose, had a _reason_. Whether it had been justifiable or not. They had made Daryl the man he was today.

And that was the catch, wasn't it. Without them, he wasn't Daryl. With them, he _was_ Daryl, broken, scarred.

_Treasured._

He meant something to her, and he shouldn't have to knock a wound off as _just another one_.

She placed her hand on his back, unable to resist anymore, and tentatively, _gently_ traced each and every one of the scars, like she had never seen them before. They didn't scare her, they didn't make her pity him. But she would never have wished them on him, on a man who deserved _far_ better.

"Damn woman," he whispered tiredly, not bothered by her touch, "you'd think you'd be used to it by now." His voice was defeated, his body the same.

She leaned forward, and laid her forehead against his back, scars in her face, the smell of sweat and blood wafting in her nose.

But it was the feel of his skin beneath her, rough and jagged, littered by scars, that made her cry, the single tear slipping down her cheek, and dropping onto his back.

"But _you_ shouldn't be," she whispered back, throat thick with emotion.

* * *


	2. Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nox: A Caryl moment to break the pace and Merle to piss people off! The prompt begins! 
> 
> Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC

Did they think he was fuckin' _stupid_?

He weren't goin' back to no goddamn cell. He'd been outta prison for the better part of…well he couldn't fuckin' remember, but he'd been _out_. Ain't no way he was goin' back in one.

So he'd walked, down the treadway, and then back. But he'd been real quiet about it. Shit, if his baby brother was gettin' some and he weren't. The world had gone bat-shit crazy.

"Damn woman." _Fuck_. He knew it. Course Darylena was gettin' some the minute he got back from some damn impossible mission. He didn't get nothin' in all the years they were growin' up and the fuckin' world goes to shit and he gets pussy _like that_.

"You'd think you'd be used to it by now." _What the hell?_ He wouldn't a guessed the woman to be no prude, what with that asshole she'd been married to.

"But _you_ shouldn't be." _The fuck?_ This was turnin' into somethin' freaky.

He glanced round the corner, and there they were. Sittin' together.

_Carol_. That's what her fuckin' name was. She had a kid or somethin', Sarah or Sonia. Carol was layin' her head on his brother's back, and Daryl weren't doin' shit about it. He just sat there, hunched over, like it weren't nothin' but nothin'.

_That_ was fuckin' new. His brother never used to let _nobody_ touch him, 'specially not no women. And where was his fuckin' shirt?

He _never_ went _anywhere_ without a shirt on. _Never_.

This was some shit that he was gonna 'ave to wrap his head round. Daryl doin' shit he couldn't understand.

What the fuck was he talkin' bout?

"Darylena!" He watched them jerk apart, satisfied at his brother's embarrassment, and stomped a couple times outside the cell for effect.

"What the hell's the holdup brother?" He weren't gonna sit there and let no woman _handle_ his brother like that. Carol wiped at her face, and picked up the bottle of whiskey at her side, pouring a little over the graze on his brothers side.

Daryl didn't even wince. But he did turn to look at Carol, his face questioning. He _ignored_ Merle. And _that_ pissed him off.

"What the hell's goin' on?" Daryl took his time before he finally decided to _give_ him an answer. Pissed him off even more.

"What the fuck's it look like _brother_?" If Merle didn't know any better, he'd say Daryl was challenging him. Somethin' he ain't done in a long fuckin' time.

Carol couldn't take the tension that had suddenly sprung up around her. It was almost suffocating. And it was almost as if it was centered around her.

"I'm just finishing my stitch Merle. Then I can take a look at you."

"I don't need none a yer stitchin' woman. Can take care a myself." She pulled away faster this time, didn't fight back like she had before.

"I know you got hit by a bullet Merle. Carol's good with her hands. She can take care of it sure a hell lot better'n you can." A snarl ripped through Merle. This Daryl, who was different even from when they were trapped together at Woodbury, was starting to piss him off.

"Been takin' care a myself longer than you 'ave baby brother. I don't _need_ no goddamn _nurse maid_ to make me feel better." And Merle stomped off again, this time, for real.

Daryl sighed, dropping his head into hands. "He's still an ass."

Carol chuckled. "You think _that_ makes him an ass?" He winced a little at the pull of the needle through a particularly sensitive spot where it was all flesh. She must have sensed it because she stopped, touched the spot gently and whispered sorry.

He didn't know how she always doin' that. Knowin' when it hurt, knowin' just what to say, knowin' how to treat him without bein' too overbearin'.

"He's probably having a fit because your shirts off." Daryl turned then, confusion written all over his face. Carol laughed this time, and turned him back around so she could finish her work.

"You know how long it took for you to let me see you without your shirt on?" He hadn't thought of that. "Hershel was the one who did most of the work on everybody for the longest time. I can't imagine what your brother looks like if this is…" Her hand trailed across his back again, gently. "He probably doesn't want me touching him, seeing him without his clothes on." He heard her sigh deeply. "That's his choice, you know that. We can't make him take my help. I'd be more than willing to, but…"

He felt her hands hesitate. "Don't have my knife," she muttered, trailing off her thought.

"Hell you mean you ain't got yer knife?" He turned on her, anger clear on his face. "It's with my things, in my cell," she said hesitantly. He jumped up, about to tear off and get it.

"Daryl, wait!" She grabbed his arm before he could take off with the needle dangling from his side. "You can't leave with it like that," she gestured to his wound. She looked around for something, anything, but came up short.

She sighed and leaned forward, took the string in her hands, took a deep breath and _bit_ the string off, her lips just grazing across his skin. She was a little surprised that he hadn't jumped away. She was a little surprised at her _own_ boldness. She'd done it before, with some of the others from the group.

But Daryl was _different._ She couldn't deny that.

Daryl couldn't believe how close she was. But it was the feel of her lips, _so close_ , that sent something ghostin' through him. And he knew right then that he had to go.

Carol sure as hell didn't have the courage to look him in the face then. So she avoided it, grabbed some gauze and tape, and patched it up.

"Okay." He took off like a bat out of hell then, picking up his shirt on the way.

When she put the tape back, she saw some scissors, buried beneath some extra supplies.

She groaned and buried her face in her hands.

"What's wrong little mouse? _Darylena_ can't get it up?" She knew he couldn't stay away for long. She could tell earlier that her interaction with Daryl had bothered Merle, and it would bring him back.

"Can I help you with something Merle? Perhaps that bullet?" It was easier to talk now, that Daryl was gone, now that his _scars_ were gone. Merle chuckled like he thought she was joking.

"Don't need nothin' from you honey. You can't give Merle what he _wants_." She wouldn't rise to the bait. Ed had done so many things, tried so many things, had _beaten_ so many things into her that Merle was like sweet apple pie to Ed.

"It's gotta be hard, having only one hand to stitch something up." She hadn't meant to make it an insult. But he took it as one. He got in her face then, teeth bared, metal stub raised, and he started yelling in her face, in this whisper only men could achieve.

"You stay away from my _brother_ woman. He don't need nobody but me. Ya got that?" He put a hand on each side of her, threateningly. "He's _my_ brother. I can take care a him. Better'n the rest of you. I wouldn't _abandon_ him like ya'll did."

She dropped her head, because she couldn't argue that. But she wouldn't let Merle scare her away.

"That's why he stayed behind. So that he could find you." It made sense to her now. Daryl was better than that. She should have known that if he got wind of his brother, he would have done everything in his power to get him back.

"Daryl always meant to find you Merle. He never stopped _looking_. Maybe there were some bumps in the road, maybe he got sidetracked along the way. But he _never stopped looking._ And I know you didn't either." She looked him in the eyes, holding that heated gaze with her own.

"So whatever you got that's underneath _there_ ," and she pointed to his chest, "can't scare me. I've seen enough to know you both love each other and that's _all_ I need to know."

Merle didn't say nothin'. He couldn't believe the words comin' out of the mouse. _Maybe_ she weren't no mouse.

Fuck, he couldn't believe he was fallin' into this shit.

He sat on the chair. Stared her down, tried for intimidation. He shoulda known it wouldn'ta worked. "Can't get my fuckin' shirt off." He gestured to his left shoulder, his good hand. "Can't lift the fuckin' shoulder, can't take off the fuckin' shirt." He looked down at his hand, feelin' his fingers movin' but seein' nothin' there.

Carol watched him, then turned to her box. "Hershel, the one without the leg, says it's called a phantom limb." She was looking around her box, pulling out tape and gauze, and then producing some scissors.

"Thought you didn't have nothin' to cut with?" She looked up in surprise, her face tinting red. But she recovered quickly.

"Thought you could take care of yourself." He shrugged his shoulders, and regretted it instantly.

"Fuck woman, hurry up." She reached forward, ready to remove his shirt, and then hesitated.

This was Merle Dixon. _Daryl's brother._ She was going to cut his shirt off. She was going to see his bare chest. And she had no doubt in her mind that it was going to be worse than Daryl.

So she stole a breath and helped him remove his button up flannel.

"Phantom limb?" She looked up, confused. "You said some phantom limb shit." She couldn't remember the last time she'd helped a man undress himself. She figured the last time was probably Ed. Even Daryl did that himself.

"Oh yeah. It's when the mind remembers a missing body part, feeling it move and all. I saw you looking down at your…your hand and figured you were thinking about it. Hershel does that when he's thinking about wiggling his toes." He grunted, looking back at his hand.

She sat back on the bunk and took the scissors, hesitated only a moment, and then started cutting from the base up.

"He still got my bike?" She smiled a little.

"What the hell you smilin' at?" She shook her head. Just like him to think back to a motorcycle. Daryl _was_ always making sure it was in good condition, probably just _because_ of Merle.

"Daryl takes very good care of it." He grunted again.

"Like he does you?" She reached the neckline and looked up, meeting his gaze. But she ignored the comment, more than likely aimed to rile her up.

She put the scissors down, and paused. Was she really prepared to do this?

Was he?

"Just take it off woman. 'Fore I change my fuckin' mind." She pulled his right arm through first, the uninjured, missing one, and then looped around his back and then slowly, carefully, pulled it off his injured shoulder.

And then she saw them. The _scars._

It was a patchwork of history. She'd never seen anything so brutal, so heartbreaking, _so sad._

She discarded the shirt and pulled up a second chair, next to the injured arm. She tried to steel her face, to make it impassive. It didn't work.

"Ain't I beautiful?" He joked, mockingly, laughing harshly. Maybe he was expecting something different. Maybe he wasn't expecting an answer. But she answered how she felt.

"Yes." Because she knew, as she took in every mark, every jagged lump, every detailed wound that she was seeing just another part of Merle's love for Daryl.

Maybe they _all_ weren't for Daryl. Maybe some were _from_ Daryl. But she knew that Merle had survived this _for_ Daryl.

And _that_ was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading. Only one more chapter to go. Your comments are very much appreciated!  
> Also, if you want to know how the Dixons came to be? Check out my story The Bad, the Ugly and the Dixons. Pre-apocalyptic drabbles on their lives.


	3. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nox: This is one of the stories I am most proud of. Thank you for reading it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Kirkman and AMC

She reached forward, about to place her hand against his chest, not thinking. He gripped her wrist hard, stopping her. The fuck she mean, _yes_. He weren't bein' fuckin' real. He was a real piece a work. Even he knew he was messed up to look at. Ain't nobody would want him, not even in this fuckin' day, with the world gone to shit.

He weren't stupid.

"Just do what yer supposed ta woman." She swallowed hard, nodded, pulled her hand back.

"Carol," she said.

"Don't matter. Won't be here long anyway." She grabbed a towel, placed it on her knee.

"Matters to me," she said. "You matter to Daryl." Merle didn't respond. Didn't matter what Daryl wanted. What mattered was the _Governor_.

She braced his shoulder, took a deep breath, and started to dig the bullet out.

" _Fuck_." He forgot what it was like not havin' _nothin_ '. No fancy medical stuff. Nothin' to get this bullet out quick and less painful.

"Sorry," she muttered, still digging. Her hand was soft against his shoulder, a sharp contrast against the pain shooting down his back. The fuckin' bullet was a _bitch_.

He needed to distract hisself.

"You take care a my brother too?" Her brows drew together, confused. She didn't stop her work though.

"Shit," she muttered. She paused momentarily, wiped at her forehead with her free hand and then continued with more ferocity. He grit his teeth.

"I don't do anything for Daryl that he doesn't want," she responded, her jaw clenched. Merle thought bout that.

Maybe this woman, _Carol_ , were something different after all. Maybe she weren't so bad for his brother.

It's not like she didn't know somethin' of what they'd gone through. Obviously she'd seen his brother, fuckin' scars 'n all. Which meant she had some kind a idea of what the hell they'd been through. And _still_ she were there. _Still_ she never flinched from the sight of him. Not even _hisself_. And he'd seen what kind of a man her husband was the moment he'd laid eyes on the sonuvabitch.

Maybe, she was just as scarred on the inside as they were on the out. Maybe, she was just what Daryl woulda needed.

Didn't mean he liked admittin' that.

"Daryl, he don't let nobody in." She stopped mid-work. Looked him square in the face, eyes wide. "He don't let nobody _touch_ him neither."

He squinted his eyes at her, takin' her in. "But then there I sees ya, touchin' him and shit." She shook her head.

"That's different. When he needs my help, he'll take it because he _has too_." A little smile broke out on her face as she started wiggling the bullet out. She bit her lip, determined now that she had purchase on it. A little _hiss_ escaped him.

"But it's taken a _long_ time for him to come this far." She sighed, thinking back on what they'd gone through to get here. "We've been through a lot to get to this point," she whispered softly.

"Well that's a Dixon. Nobody ever gave us nothin'. Less it was gonna hurt, or make us bleed, we don't know what _nice_ is." And then, _finally_ , she pried that bullet out. He pounded a fist against his leg, grinding his teeth hard.

"Fuck woman, you tryin' to kill me?" She smiled a little.

"Think you'd know if I was." She poured some whiskey on it, and then offered him the bottle. He took it, gratefully.

She placed the towel over the wound, staunching the blood.

"My brother 'n me, we never knew how to make nice. The ol' man…" Merle trailed off, thinkin' back on what life had been like. There was too much there, to even try and make sense of that mess.

"The ol' man made us who we are. Shouldn't a come to this. Should a been better'n this." He took another swallow of whiskey.

"Daryl always was the better one. Always takin' care a me. He never did any drugs, never got in no trouble with the law. He never got with no women neither." He looked at her then, brows going high. "I ain't lyin' bout that one. Baby brother always was a pussy when it came to the honey pot." Carol's lip twisted at his language, but didn't interrupt. Merle didn't seem to notice, because he just kept going, his voice drifting off. "The ol' man musta known he was the sweet one…"

Carol watched him, watched him try to explain a whole lifetime of who they were and how they became that way.

But it didn't matter to her. Daryl was who he was and she cared about him no matter what. But she sensed that Merle needed to talk about it, so she let him.

"Ol' man never let Daryl have nothin', never let him do nothin'. Always beatin' on him, makin' him do the tough shit. Like he was tryin' to make a man out of him or somethin'. As if he weren't a man," he murmured. He swished the bottle round, watching the copper liquid spin.

"Daryl was more a man than either of us," he muttered.

He looked at her then, looked her hard in the eyes.

"I know I ain't gonna be round much longer. The world ain't never been kind to us Dixon's and to hell if it starts now." He dropped the bottle and gripped her by the arm, squeezing tight.

"You promise me somethin' woman." She nodded, knowing that that was what he needed her to do. But also, because she would do whatever he asked of her, especially if it was about Daryl.

"I ain't never asked nothin' of nobody. Ain't never had to. I always been there, to take care of my own shit." She could smell the whiskey off his breath. She didn't think he would do nothin', but his eyes were wild.

"I always been there to take care of _Daryl_." His head dipped low. "But you _promise_ me," he seemed to struggle with this, asking her something. She knew it was hard for him, hard for a Dixon to ask for something. How many times has she sensed that Daryl wanted to do the same thing and couldn't, _wouldn't_ all because of some Dixon pride. 

"Promise you'll take care a him," he whispered hoarsely.

The admission stole her breath. For _Merle_ to ask her to take care of Daryl went against everything she ever thought.

"No matter what he may do, no matter what he may say. Daryl'll keep you away, push back anything you try to do fer him." Merle loosed his grip and picked the bottle back up, taking another drink.

"You can't let'im." He leaned back in the chair, dropped the bottle of whiskey and rubbed at his prosthetic absently.

"He's gonna need lookin' after," he whispered to no one.

She placed her hand against his arm, gently. "I promise." He took a good long look in her eyes, and she didn't look away.

He cleared his throat, shifted his feet. "Good. Now finish yer business so I can get on my fuckin' way."

She checked the wound, making sure it had stopped bleeding. And Merle's request echoed in her mind.

Merle never needed to ask. She would take care of Daryl _no matter what_. They had this _unspoken_ pact to look out for each other. But to know that Merle loved his brother _that much_ , that he needed to ask her to look after him, touched her heart.

She'd never expected to know Merle like this.

"Merle…" She placed the gauze over the wound, taping it in place. He took a glance at her.

"Daryl still needs you." She'd finished, her hands falling away from his shoulder.

He laughed half-heartedly at her words. "Baby brother don't need me no more. He got a _new_ family."

The look on his face, when he said family, made her chest _ache_. He looked dejected and angry and _sad_. She'd never seen that look before. Not on a face so familiar to her. Not since _Sophia_.

She took his hand in hers, carefully, measuring what was safe and what wasn't. She could feel callouses against her hand, the minute scars. It was the only one he had left.

She took a chance, looking into his eyes. This was an intimacy that she'd never even tried with Daryl. And she could tell by the look in his eyes that she was on dangerous territory.

"You will _always_ be his family Merle." He wasn't pulling his hand away, wasn't looking away from her gaze. She took that as a good sign and plundered on.

"You'll always be his _brother_." He jerked away from her then, jumped out of the chair, and it tumbled to the ground. The action scared her, sent her heart thundering in her chest. Merle paced the tiny, confined cell. She could see then, the fine similarities between the brothers. It was unnerving.

"Don't fuckin' matter who I _am_. What fuckin' matters is what happens _out there!_ " He swung his arm toward the door but she knew he was talking about the outside. Their world beyond the prison walls. _The walking dead._

"You're not _dead_ Merle. You'll still be around. The group can work something out…" He snorted derisively, swung the prosthetic in her direction and continued pacing, taking another swallow of whiskey.

"Yer fuckin' stupid if ya think that fairy tale is gonna happen."

She rose to her feet, her hands spread in a passive gesture, frustrated that he couldn't see how much she was willing to try and make this work. "Merle, listen-"

It was so quick she didn't even see him coming. He pinned her against the wall, his six foot frame filling up the space in front of her. His well-toned arms blocking her on both sides. His face came in close, so close that she could see the flecks of gray hidden in the blue of his eyes. She never noticed that in Daryl's.

"No you listen bitch." He slammed the metal prosthetic against the wall, cracking the concrete next to her face. She flinched away from it. He gripped her by the chin, squeezing hard. She froze, not daring to move, even though her jaw ached.

"I didn't ask ya to look after me, I asked ya ta look after _him_." And Merle jerked his arm toward the entrance, implying his brother. She couldn't help the glance and her eyes widened.

There he stood. Her knife gripped tight at his side, face lit up in rage, eyes narrowed at the sight he was taking in.

Merle turned where she was looking and smirked.

This time, she really was scared. Not for herself, but for _them_.

"Hey there baby brother." He sounded so _cocky,_ so _confident._ Daryl didn't even breathe.

"Just havin' a conversation here, with ya woman." Daryl's hand flexed around the knife, and he took a threatening step toward them. Toward Merle.

"Step away Merle." Carol knew that look. She'd seen it cross his face many times when he was looking down the barrel of a gun, or facing off a walker or another living person that meant him harm.

"Don't do this," she pleaded but to _who_ even she didn't know.

"Fuckin' shut _up_ you dumb bitch." Daryl jerked in her direction and Merle moved with him. Instead of being pinned by his hand, now she was pinned by his metal arm, the piece heavy and odd against her chest. Merle held out a hand and Daryl stopped, unsure of what Merle had in mind.

"Fuckin' _back away_ Merle." She bit her lip hard, barely breathing. 

"Or what baby brother? You gonna stick me with yer little toothpick there?" Daryl growled, venomous and harsh, something Carol hadn't heard in a long time.

"Fuck you Merle!" And Daryl tackled him. Carol pressed herself tight against the wall, and watched in horror as they struggled with each other on the ground. Daryl on top at first, before Merle quickly overtook him.

And Carol became increasingly worried. Merle just kept punching him, in the face, in the chest, on the arms, in the stomach. It wasn't long until Daryl was lying on the ground, bloodied, quickly bruising, panting. He still looked pissed at Merle, even if he was losing the fight.

And then Merle was standing over him, boot raised over Daryl's face.

When Carol threw herself over him.

Merle's face pinched in fury.

"Fuckin' move woman, or you'll be a part a this." She didn't flinch at the look in his eyes, because she knew he meant it. She could feel Daryl, breathing heavy beneath her, shaking hard against her chest, his breath coming hot against her neck.

"I made you a _promise_." Merle visibly flinched then, his foot moving away slightly.

"And I intend to keep it." She never took her gaze from his, never let go of Daryl. She wasn't going to let anything happen to Daryl as long as she was there to stop it. And if that meant standing in the way of Merle Dixon, then so be it.

"So go ahead. _Do it_." Merle's foot hesitated for a fraction of a moment, before he dropped it to the ground next to Daryl's head. She thought he was going to spit something at her, words of hate, _anything,_ but he just turned on his heels and stalked out of the prison. Carol felt herself breathe again, felt the breath shudder out of Daryl beneath her. And then words echoed back to them both.

"Better hold onta that one baby brother. _Real tight._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The very first in the line of many Maryl, is now completed. Don't be afraid to leave me a few words on what you thought. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> The prompt: A Merle confessional to Carol, asking her to take care of his brother because he can't.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Your comments would be much appreciated! This was not part of the prompt, but the actual prompt part comes in the second half. And Merle will be here next!


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